la vie en rose
by daffidil
Summary: DI Lestrade and Mycroft Holmes have been invited to a wedding, but the latter is less than enthusiastic... {contains John Watson just to keep some people i know happy...} - established Mystrade


**La Vie En Rose**

"And you said what exactly...?" Mycroft uttered in disbelief, as the piece of toast he was holding hovered over the breakfast table for a few seconds.

"I said 'yes'," Greg answered calmly. He was holding a card with curly letters and showed it to Mycroft, who peered at it unhappily. On it was written that Mr Gregory Lestrade and partner were invited to the wedding of Mr Clarence Dickens and Ms Sarah Donovan, which was to be held on the 15th of the following month. Sarah Donovan being Sally, Greg had to explain.

"You didn't think to ask me first? That I might not want to go, or that it would be impossible due to other arrangements," Mycroft carried on his unhappiness.

"I'm asking you now, aren't I? You don't have to come if you don't want to, if it feels awkward to be amongst my colleagues. Donovan asked me specifically before she sent out the invite, she even asked John Watson if he and Sherlock could be there…"

"She must be desperate then, the poor girl."

"Maybe… Or maybe she just wants to share her happy day with as many people as possible. We did, didn't we?" Greg looked at his Other Half with curiosity, wondering why he was being this irritated. He didn't have issues with his sergeant, not in the way his brother had, so what was causing this…? He got up from his chair to hang the card up on the fridge with a strawberry magnet, a phenomenon that never occurred until Greg moved in to the house. Mycroft would only be in his kitchen for a quick bite to eat in the morning, and a cup of tea, and leave as quickly as possible. His dinners, was he to have them at home, would be eaten in the dining room. But when Greg joined him in the house, he took to using the kitchen more, as Greg would spend ages there, eating and reading the paper, talking to him about anything that came to mind. The kitchen became a much more alive place, and little things like hanging up postcards from friends who were on holiday, or invites like this, would find a place on the front of the big fridge, making the room look a lot less formal.

"I'll think about it, Gregory," Mycroft said while he wiped crumbs of his mouth, and received a kiss goodbye from his love.

"Good… I'll see you later, might be back for dinner, but then again…" he grinned as he left the room, ready for another day of murder and red tape.

* * *

When the fifteenth of the next month arrived, Greg found himself getting his best suit, freshly dry-cleaned, out of its cover, and hoped he would still fit the trousers as easily as he did when he got them, two years ago. He did. The shirt he was going to wear, a purple-ish blue one, was laid out over the end of the bed, along with a tie that he wasn't sure he was going to wear. Sally had pressed him that it wasn't going to be terribly formal so a tie could look too dressy…

Mycroft still hadn't made his mind up as to his joining him for the do - the last time Greg asked, he was sure that Mycroft was going to implode, so he'd left it since, and he was almost happy if he'd decide not to come, not having to worry about Mycroft having a good time or not… John Watson would be there, and Dimmock might be a laugh, and Greg knew he had no trouble keeping himself amused on his own.

He then heard a knock on the door of the bedroom, and Mycroft appeared in the gap that had been left when he himself got in.

"Can I come in?" Mycroft asked.

"Course!" Greg replied, carrying on getting ready.

Mycroft stepped into their room, and looked admiringly at his partner, a smile appearing on his face.

"Wow, you look… Yummy…" was the only thing he could think of.

"Well, thanks…"

"Um, Greg… Is it still okay of I come along?" he asked very carefully.

"Will you be able to get ready on time then? Mr Fussy…" Greg looked at him sternly, "The taxi will be here in half an hour."

"I shall do my best," Mycroft replied, and set about getting himself to look his usual distinguished self in record time. He even found time to walk up to Greg, who was looking at himself doing up his tie in the mirror, and slide his hands around his waist, planting a soppy kiss in his neck.

"Oh Mycroft! Not now! I don't want to get to the church with a… Oh god, you dreadful man…" Greg uttered, to then give in and answer the kiss with a proper one, and the ringing of the doorbell rescued them from getting too carried away. "Taxi…" he shouted, breathing very heavily.

They arrived at the church in North East London with ample time to see who else was there, and Greg noticed that besides some family members and people he'd never seen before, most of his colleagues from their floor were there, with or without partners. He greeted a few, then noticed John and Sherlock being cornered by Dimmock, both men looking very ill at ease, until John spotted them, and he cut their chat short, much to the visible relief of a rather annoyed Sherlock.

"Thank goodness you guys are here," John sighed, "I was ready to take the next cab home…"

"I know I was," the low baritone of Sherlock followed. "Good god, what are we doing here, John? You said it was a great opportunity for a social experiment, but the only thing I can think of experimenting on is how many cocktail sticks I can put up my ear… Far more fun, I'm sure…"

"Now now, Sherlock, I'm pretty sure you will be able to deduct something very embarrassing about a few of these people here, give it a minute… Where would we be without your notions making everything awkward…?" Mycroft smirked.

"You sure that's the right road to go down?" Greg asked, feeling slightly awkward already.

"It's alright, Greg, we have a bet on. I said he wouldn't be able to get through to the party without making someone cry, and that if he did, I would make it very interesting for him…"

"Okay, more information than we need, John," Mycroft smiled.

"I see," Greg giggled, looking Sherlock up and down and being sure of how much discomfort he must be under. Naughty Dr Watson…

The service was fairly pleasant, as well as predictable (Sally – who looked gorgeous in a big white dress - cried, as did her mother and most of the women in the building, and Mycroft, none of it caused by Sherlock), and they all made their way to an old barn that was rebuilt for functions such as these, and the band was playing lovely tunes, the food was nice, and not until the party really got under way was there any kind of unpleasantness to speak of, as Sally's father in law, a big American chap who had trouble holding his drink, started to sing very loudly along to the music, making feel Sally Donovan look quite awkward.

"He embezzled a load of money from the company he runs with his sister's former husband." Sherlock drawled, while sitting uncomfortably at the table that he was allocated to.

"Sherlock…" John tried.

"Nobody can hear me, John, and nobody cares… They're all too busy getting drunk and hoping to get off with one of the bridesmaids…"

"What, even the women?" Mycroft pitched in.

"No, they're all ogling the grooms' little brother…"

"Who's very hot," Mycroft finished his brother's sentence, receiving a kick on the leg from his spouse. "Sorry, Greg, but he is… Even you must admit… Ouch…"

"Care for a dance, darling?" Greg asked to change the subject, holding his hand out.

"Not to this racket, thanks," was the answer he received.

"Fine, I'll go find someone else, Sally's sister is sitting alone there, surely she's happy to…"

"Ooh… do I sense unease in the camps?" Sherlock pondered out loud. "Surely not, Brother Dearest…?"

"Just because I don't want to dance to… This…" he flicked a dismissive hand in the air to indicate his dislike for the song being crooned by Dave and his Magnificent 4.

Greg had gone off, to ask Sally's sister, but she was feeling sick, and so he tried Sgt Mole, one of Sally's friends from the Yard, and she was quite willing to dance with him. Fly Me To The Moon was strangled by Dave now, and about seven other couples attempted to dance to it.

"Nice do, innit?" he heard Tanya shout over the music. "Sally's so happy, I've never seen her so thrilled."

"Yeah, she looked delighted… Never seen her look this… Ladylike… She's normally tough as old boots…" Greg laughed.

"Oh, you should see her when we hit the town! You wouldn't recognise her…" Tanya giggled. She was a good dancer, and they carried on when Dave when into a medley of Dean Martin songs, and he couldn't remember having a good time like this for ages with another woman. He'd never taken much notice of Tanya Mole before, but he was warming to her very much. Until he glanced at the table where Mycroft and Sherlock were sitting, deep in a caustic conversation by the looks on his other half's face. John had gone off to dance with one of the bridesmaids, looking like he too was having a groove.

"Sorry, Tanya, but I need to do something, thanks ever so much for these dances," he said when the medley came to an end, and walked up to Dave, who had stopped for a short break.

"'Scuse me mate, but could I ask you a massive favour?" Greg started.

His favour asked, he went back to the table where the Holmes brothers were busy trying to verbally sabre each other under the table, and he sat down on the chair next to Mycroft.

"Happy now?" Sherlock asked, without sounding in the slightest interested in the answer.

"Almost…" Greg answered anyway, "Just taking a breather. Needed a drink."

"Why do people dance in the first place? Isn't this one of the stupidest of human rituals? I mean, look at John… I love that man to pieces, but when I see him cavorting around like that, I fail to see the attraction, to be honest…"

"That bridesmaid can," Mycroft drawled, knowing it would rile his little brother.

"Mycroft…" Greg tried to stop this from turning into a full blown war.

"That bridesmaid is as unsophisticated as they come, what else can you expect…"

"Sherlock!" Greg tried again.

Just then the band was ready for another blast of songs, and the tones of a tune that had Mycroft look at Greg questioningly. Greg smiled back acknowledging his nonverbal query, and saw his husband get up from his chair, hold his hand out for Greg to take, and say: "Would you care to join me on the dance floor, darling?"

"Oh, please," Sherlock blurted out to nobody in particular.

"Always, my sweet," Greg replied, and let himself be lead to the area where nobody else had started dancing after the break, and he felt Mycroft put an arm around his waist, pulling him closer, and the other hold his hand, and a smile was plastered on his face.

"You asked for this…?" he asked, not really caring what Greg would say, but the nod that followed made him grin even more. "La Vie En Rose… You know I love that…"

"Well, I remember us dancing to it on our wedding day, I'm not quite senile, thanks…" Greg smiled back, then put his head on Mycroft's shoulder, forgetting that they were in a room full of people he knew. He couldn't care less, and when he felt Mycroft's breath in his neck, he just closed his eyes and let himself be lead.

They carried on for another dance, then said their goodbyes to John and Sherlock, and made their way back to the house, where they carried on their loving dance, though it was a slightly different version...


End file.
